


Depression Meal

by akgerhardt



Series: SFW [17]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Executive Dysfunction, M/M, Mental Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akgerhardt/pseuds/akgerhardt
Summary: Man gets fucked over by life, receives aftercare from significant other.





	Depression Meal

Your name is Dirk, and you are clinically depressed, among many other things.

That's not to say you don't have good days… but this whole "getting help" thing is new to you. You don't feel like you deserve it, you're uncomfortable with exposing vulnerabilities and being dependent, and guilt overwhelms you at the thought of burdening your friends when the repressed traumas and raw pain surface. All in all, you'd prefer to just not deal with any of that shit, yet here you are. It’s supposed to benefit you and your relationships, so you trudge through it, one step at a time. There are plenty of slip-ups and backsteps, though. 

Today is just one of those days that result from built-up stress, unregulated emotions, neglected physical health, and so forth. You had a hell of a week, and you were supposed to hang out with The Gang as per weekend customs, but you couldn't. It’s the second time in a row you've skipped, and you imagine they aren't buying your cop-out excuses. Whatever; you're doing them a favor by not being a wet towel. 

To be perfectly honest, you fantasize about perma-death on a regular basis. You have no intention to act on it; existence just hurts like a motherfucker, and that fleeting fantasy is often the only thing that keeps you sane(ish). You’re tired of trying; you're always tired, but you don't have a choice. That's just how it is in this bitch of a multiverse. 

You haven't bought groceries in a while, but you spent the first sixteen years of your life subsisting on overprocessed shit, so it doesn't bother you much. You keep up with hygiene (primarily showering) because it soothes you, and also because you hate being gross. You let your hair down out of lethargic apathy, though. 

You haven't slept right in too long, but, again, you're used to it. You preoccupy yourself with pointless bs when you have energy just to drown out your obsessive, intrusive thoughts and fears, hoping this cloud will pass on its own. 

Sometimes you get lucky that way, but this isn't one of those times. You're thinking about all of the things you need to do, trying to figure out where to start and force yourself through it when he knocks on your window. You startle and he just waves, waiting for the go-ahead to let himself in. You could lock it, but it's not like anyone can access it without flying, narrowing the list of potential intruders to people you know. 

It’s like he radiates pure sunshine, even when he's not overtly happy. You feel a pang of guilt at his concerned expression, trying to look less miserable and disheveled. 

"Sorry to intrude, but it's a rare and worrisome occasion when you don't answer anybody." 

You fumble around to find your phone, realizing it died.

"Shit, my bad... I'm fine, though. Sorry for worrying you. Just down with the sickness, so you don't want to get too close." 

He gives you that Look, and you'd be sweating if it wasn't so damn cold in the house. He came prepared, and you don't have the heart to protest. You still feel bad about it, but you know he'd be upset if you turned him away. 

"I do want to, thanks much." 

He drapes a fluffy blanket over you and sits beside you, stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean closer, focusing on the sensation.

"... Don’t deserve you."

"Nonsense. Have you had anything to eat or drink today?"

You nod. He squints. You shake your head sheepishly.

"Alrighty, Operation TLC is a go! Just relax and let me take care of you."

You grumble a weak rejection, stifling a whine when he removes his hand. He retrieves a can of soup and heats it up in a microwave bowl, bringing it over. 

"Upsy-daisy! C'mon, almost there~"

You comply begrudgingly, heaving yourself upright.

"I can feed myself," you state.

"I know."

You kinda detest eating real food, but you'll do it for him. Ugh, proper nutrition... It’s not even one of those high-sodium soups.

You take each spoonful he offers, gradually enjoying it. You hum appreciatively. 

"This isn't necessary," you mumble over a mouthful of savory vegetables.

"I know."

"You don't have to be here. Seriously."

"I know. Here comes the plane! Pchooooo…"

You open for the latest vehicle, smirking around the spoon. You feel somewhat better once it's finished, though your digestive system is predictably protesting. He snuggles up to you under the blanket, smooching your cheek and administering healing rubs. You sigh softly, warm on the inside and out.

"... Thank you."

"Don't mention it, love."

After a solid nap, he showers you in the most tender affections, pressing kisses and gentle nibbles all over and then jerking you off, crooning praises. You want him in your ass, though, and he provides once you obediently chug a couple glasses of water and drag yourself to the bedroom. You fall asleep with him like that and wake to find the storm has cleared up. He kisses your lips again sweetly when you manage a "Mornin'," and you can't help but smile, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. 

"Morning, sunshine! How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm on Cloud-Fucking-Nine... You're too good to me."

"Shhh. You're always there for me and everyone else. There's nothing wrong with reciprocation."

...

"I love you so goddamn much." 

"Right back atcha!" he beams, scooting closer to lay his head on your chest. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the reprieve from your backwards thought processes.

Your name is Dirk, and you’re finding that the happy times outnumber the sad ones these days.


End file.
